A Hero Made, A Hero Destroyed
by CrazyIndigoChild
Summary: This wasn't the first time I had to face the ugly truth of my cowardice and, if I somehow make it out of here alive, it certainly won't be my last run-in. Still, no matter how much you think you come to terms with the fact that you'd sooner watch your friends and family be annihilated than put yourself in harm's way, it still does a number on your pride.


_So yeah, I'm back with a new thang for y'all. Luckily I decided this would be a oneshot or you wouldn't see the end of it! _

_Lately I've found myself in a bit of a rut and having some trouble with writing stuff- the TLDR version of this story is that I decided to play with 1st person again since I hadn't used it in forever. _

_The prompt-theme-thing I used for this was **Courage. Either the presence of, the lack of, and the consequences. **_

_So please enjoy my courageous rendition of courage in first person narration!_

* * *

In a magical place far outside the linear reaches of time, because 99.9 percent of seemingly rational beings tend to think time is linear when, in fact, it's not, there is a tiny magical place where the name Macavity is absolutely meaningless. It's a tiny, rather silly little dwelling right next to 'dogs being intelligent' and just a stone's throw from 'Hitler was actually a really cool guy'. My point being that somewhere along this "line" we've seriously screwed up and ended up with a mass holocaust, a deranged feline overlord, and a seriously disillusioned idolization of a kind that eats its own poop.

I say this now because somewhere in my time sequence I seemed to have danced and sparkled myself into this tiny little place, flipped off the Man, and sauntered out farting like the reckless git I am.

And now I'm paying for it.

My knees scrape, bang, and flail my legs out for purchase as I'm dragged by the scruff of my neck across the uneven cement cellar I am to call my prison. I hiss and spit as menacingly as I can and try to claw through the arm holding up the bulk of my weight. All I think of is how bad this arse is going to get it when my turn comes to exact revenge, which makes me more eager to get loose.

This arse, by the way, is Macavity himself. Yes, I saw this moment coming when I jumped down from my rope as the, incredibly humble, Magical Marvellous Mr. Mistoffelees and plucked Deuteronomy out from his scummy paws with as much ease as a mouse from my hat; no, I did not expect him to come when he did and to actually capture me like he has. But my faculty is magick and humility, not clairvoyance.

Macavity chuckles with a chilling easiness that transforms some of my anger into fear. Our stride slows and through the dark I can see what awaits me before he can surprise me with it: an overflowing water trough ripe for the dunking. I call upon my magic to save me, to envelop me and sweep me off to some (preferably far and warm) safe place where this nutcase won't find me. He sees- or rather senses- my body slowly melting into space and tightens his grip. Something malevolent in him bites back and consumes my somewhat-slow-to-go magick.

I squirm harder, my hissing turning to laboured panting and I can practically feel the spring in his step now. "Let's see if that prodigious knack of yours can breath underwater, shall we?" It can't, and I already know this painfully well.

Before I can brace myself with a final gasp for air I'm flung over the side and land face first in the trough, cold water hitting my face like a nation-wide phonebook. For a split second I am able to pull my sopping head out and rasp for breath before Macavity's powerful body slams into my back and sends me back into the hellish water.

"You think you can humiliate _me, _you cocky pillock!" he screams into my ear as my head thrashes beneath his prickly paws, my own gripping the lip of the trough and pushing against the spongy slime at the bottom. Already my chest feels like it's going to cave in on itself, lungs groaning from the slow crushing of my ribs between my torturer and his inanimate accomplice.

He yanks my head out of the water just as my eyeballs begin to throb; I gasp so hard my throat cracks but my lungs don't care and suck in more, anticipating submersion. "Do you think I find your little games _intimidating_? I've got power like you wouldn't believe, boy, and it would mean the world if you could survive half the things I've got lined up for you."

If he'd only give me a moment to collect myself I would respond; it takes two for this kind of banter. Was I hoping to intimidate him? No, not really- in fact I was trained to fear even the mere thought of Macavity along with all the other Jellicles! If it hadn't been Deuteronomy he'd taken, if Tugger hadn't exposed me to the entire tribe, if no one had expected me to actually step up to the plate, I probably wouldn't have entertained the thought of stepping on his ugly toes for very long.

And as much as Macavity was everything I feared and loathed and admired I wouldn't take back what I did. Actually, I'd do it again. I don't know why exactly, but I would.

My head went back under only to be brought back up again and again. After about the fourth or fifth trip this particular torture begins to lose its _je ne sais quoi,_ not that I'd gotten used to it but I was losing too much consciousness to really care. Plus it was obvious Macavity had planned out our whole evening together so there was no reason why he'd let me die now.

With a final shove deep into the murky sludge at the bottom of the basin he grabbed me by the scruff and threw my tired body onto the floor. "Oh yes," he purred, eyes raking over my slight frame. Ugh. "We're going to have fun, you and I."

Still panting like a pathetic pollicle, I manage to find my voice, raspy but firm. "It's not really fun seeing as you never play fair."

Eyes flickering with amusement, he swaggers over to me and crouches low beside my head. A filthy, rusty hand reaches out and caresses my cheek. He's mocking me. "Well, I can't please everyone, can I?" His voice is melodious and enticing, having the perfectly dangerous mix of his brothers Munkustrap and Rum Tum Tugger's power and sensuality. I can see why Demeter fell for him before.

"But don't worry, pet," he croons and trails his paw from my face down my neck, chest, belly... I'm grabbed roughly and for a moment I'm glad my rescue party hasn't come storming in just yet. My jaw jerks shut but the rugged grunt of surprise and, for Bastet sake, slight arousal still grates past my teeth. "I'll make sure to please you before I mangle your hide into a putrid pulp."

His hand tried to tease me while he spoke, stroking all the right places with the most skilled paw and experience, but I won't be so easily... persuaded. Actually, I use this to my advantage. "I don't know what's more insulting," I sigh with the most nonchalant tone I can muster. Because, after all, I _can_ feel what's going on below the belt. Oh yeah, and I'm still shaking like a kitten inside. "Your underestimating my skill... or that you actually believe you can satisfy me. I have _some_ standards, Mac-"

I'm cut off with a wicked slap to the face, but that is to be expected. There's a burning hunger in me, sporadic and fleeting as it tries to engulf me and transport me back to safety, but it cannot take over and I can't control it just yet. I need to get my head cool on the inside: fear is truly my only enemy here. And I fear my fear is going to get me killed.

My chatty mood is gone now. "What do you want from me, Macavity?" His smile darkens with the threat in my tone bubbling up to the surface.

"I want you out of my way."

"Fresh out." I say, and he's on me like ugly on a pollicle wrapping his gargantuan paw lookalikes a couple times around my neck. Once again I'm struggling for my breath only this time I have the luxury of not being submerged. "The Jellicles are mine," I wheeze, bringing my paws up to uselessly claw at his huge mitts, "You can have London- take the city and do your dirty work, but leave my territory alone."

"Your territory!" He howls with laughter, a sound that's just trademark badguy cackling. It's just so cliche I want to laugh too. But decide against it. "There's so much you have yet to learn, runt. If you want territory you have to guard it; I practically waltzed in and took away the very centre of your little haven!"

"Why do you think I've claimed it for myself?" I choke, as calm and cool as physically possible despite my face turning blue from his weight on my thin, scrawny neck. He releases and slams my skull against the pavement so hard it bounces back into his paws. Stars explode in front of my eyes, my senses pulsate sickeningly and another thrill of fear chills me.

This- the fact that I have claimed magical ownership of what was supposed to be his Jellicle junkyard, that I'm now holding the throne alongside his brothers and father- does not appear to be the best thing to say for my personal safety. But I need Macavity unhinged; if I can push him far enough he might storm off somewhere to mope or whatever Napoleons of Crime do when they're having a fit, while I collect myself to sneak out of this dump. Because the more he abuses me and the more comfortable he gets the less control I have over my own powers... and him.

"You lie," he spits. "Deuteronomy wouldn't let a low-grade conjurer stake his tribe, much less a weak little fairy like you."

I mumble a healing spell that he doesn't seem able to catch- or ignores for his own pleasure of extended play- and open my eyes when the bone in my skull mends. Wisely I choose to ignore the fairy comment. "Better than an out of control maniac, I suppose. But if you want to go ask him yourself, be my guest."

"No need. I'll just get rid of you and the junkyard will be available until some other brainless coin-disappearing tit tries to claim what's rightfully mine."

Amazing! Did he not listen to Tugger's glorious introduction- _my_introduction? I'm the Original Conjuring Cat! I didn't get the title by floating coins or some garbage like that. "You seem to have forgotten who you're talking to, Macavity. I'm the tom who singlehandedly pulled Deuteronomy right out of your paws; you know I'm not just an opening act."

"That's true," he acquiesces and I realize that this is practically just a step away from a compliment. Oddly enough I don't feel very complimented. "But despite all your power you still stood back and let me take him. The great and marvellous Mr. Mistoffelees," he spits my name and I can feel the spray like little daggers to my face. "Was overcome by his own cowardice. I could have killed my father in the time it took for you to realize what was between your legs and be dragged to heroism."

Shame slaps me clean across the face; it wasn't the first time I had to face the ugly truth of my cowardice and, if I somehow make it out of here alive, it certainly won't be my last run-in. Still, no matter how much you think you come to terms with the fact that you'd sooner watch your friends and family be annihilated than put yourself in harm's way, it still does a number on your pride.

While Macavity had everyone stunned, slow and stupid, I watched from my hiding place in the oven, perfectly able to run to Deuteronomy's aid and maybe even put up a decent fight until Munkustrap or Alonzo came to. I didn't even go with Munkustrap to get his father back, even knowing there was no way in hell he'd be able to find the ginger cat without mine or the twins' help.

A thought occurs to me; "You never took him back. Why?"

He seems bored by my question, huffing and grimacing at the lack of fiery passion and the piss and vinegar of young vengeful heroes. To be honest I wasn't finding myself overtly thrilling either. "So you could take him back and we could play this silly back-and-forth game? No."

Macavity cocks his head slightly and takes a brief intermission to watch my, hopefully brave and stoic, face. A sharp and horridly unkept claw caresses the ridge of my ear before ever so cloyingly making its way down the side of my head. I scream out when the claw suddenly stabs into my temple and breaks the skin there to tear the flesh of my cheek open like a zipper.

As Macavity isn't prone to proper hygiene, and gathering from the handful of other scratches I've collected over the years, the thick layers of dirt, disease, and probably some strain of rust seeps deep into the cut and instantly sets the whole side of my face on fire. Blood pours down my face and pools into my mouth where I have to either drink it or drown. "Besides, I've discovered a much more worthy target."

That means it's my turn to be intimidating. I won't try because, well, for one I have a deranged lunatic ten times my size straddling me; my arms are pinned and completely numb under his bony knees so at best I have the defences of a wet noodle; and I've not yet had the experience of talking with my mouth full of blood and my cheek flapping in the breeze so I have no idea how that'll sound.

At the end of the day I'm stuck with sarcasm: "Fho, mee? I'm plattered you tink so." Huh. That's what I sound like. I should have gone for a more comedic approach.

"Oh no," Macavity laughs, finding me about as hilarious as a three-legged, twitchy pollicle in a pedigree show. He pulls his claw free of my face and I can instantly feel the cut congealing. "I can hurt you all I wish but you'll regenerate- the flaw in our design: we aren't so easily disposed of- meanwhile the ones you love the most are rather fragile."

A growl, low and menacing because I don't need perfect articulation to tell him he's crossing some serious lines.

"Yes, I'm debating whether I want to start from the outside, start with friends and work my way up the line, or start from your innermost circle..." Using his claw like a paintbrush he trails the sharp tip over the white fur on my neck and chest. Very very vaguely- I don't want to think about it too hard- I can feel his hips press down against me, I focus on his claws gripping the skin on my chest as he kneads.

His voice is dark and rich and- Everlasting the similarities are too much for comfort! A delicious chill of heat and longing trickles down to my groin but stops there as my body recognizes who he isn't. His gentle pulsing against me isn't helping much. "That is, if you're unwilling to step down."

As... ugh... _turned_ _on_ as I am there's still a bite of rage that fights its way to the surface. My cheek now intact, I rear up to spit in his face- oh who am I kidding, I wouldn't lick a stamp for his mail let alone spit on his face. That's something gutsy and impulsive; that's something for Tugger to do. "Step down how?"

"Relinquish your power to me, forgo your title, that jazz."

"What!? I can't-" Because all soap operas are bad, Macavity growls and crushes his face to mine like a scene in an especially bad one. I feel like throwing up when his tongue, hot like the black rubber of the tire in the summer and slick and writhing like a snake, worms out of his mouth and deep into mine.

My first instinct is to bite- to chomp down on his grotty bugger's dripping tongue! But victim-assailant relationships aren't exactly equal or fair so whatever I dish out I can expect to come right back a zillion times over. It pays to have the upper hand. I just lay there and cringe in disgust; glue my tongue to the back of my throat and wait until he's done inspecting the fine patchwork I made on the gash on my cheek.

He releases me with heavy, bothered panting, smiling and licking away a string of saliva between us. "You need to think my offer over, I know. Please, kit, take all the time you need, we have all the time in the world." With that he hoists his heavy body off of mine and gracefully rises to his feet.

I listen to the sound of his paws padding across the smooth concrete until they reach the stairs and take them bounding two steps at a time. With a cheery "Ta taa!" the door slams with reverberating force and I'm left in dark, dank echo.

Thank Bast that went as well as it did! I hadn't expected him to leave me as soon as he had, being somewhat set on making me suffer and all. My body unfurls and relaxes into the harsh stone, but it's as intact and functional as it can be for all the abuse it's taken and repaired over the past few hours.

Upstairs I can hear the Napoleon of Crime stomping about the abandoned flat pacing faster and faster. When he said I had all the time in the world I doubt he meant much more than the time it takes for him to do a couple laps of the building, sit down for a lovely tea, then sharpen his fangs for the list of fun activities he'd supposedly planned for us.

I guess I had all the time in _my_ world... or what was left of it.

"Everlasting, I have to get home!"

Without Macavity's tongue in my mouth it's much easier to focus; letting every muscle in my body relax I conjure the unnatural air in this Cat forsaken room to whisk me away.

After a few moments of straining and concentrating I can finally feel the tips of my toes and claws run up over me like sand caught in the wind, the rest of my body slowly following suit and brushing away in a breezy mist set for home.

Home. In the Jellicle junkyard. Where all my loved ones are, probably sitting around worried sick if not charging to my rescue.

It finally sinks in just moments before my body would start appearing in my den before Victoria's very eyes: Macavity knows I'll go back. And he wants me to.

Going home would be an excuse to follow me to the junkyard and an excuse to follow through with his threat; he'll take away the ones I love slowly from the outside in- or the inside out depending on his mood. Macavity will destroy the junkyard to get what he wants and he won't be judicious in regards to whose throat he has to slice open to get the job done.

So, what, do I stay here and wait for him to come down and torture me to death? Maybe he'll start by pulling out my claws and then flog me for a bit- what if he starts dunking me again and I can't die because he won't let me! And I don't even want to die!

Bast, I just want to go home!

"I have to kill him." I hear a small, squeaky voice mumble and am shocked to find out it's mine! But I can't kill Macavity, he's too strong and I've not the slightest idea how to even start killing him; this would be a lot easier if I was big like Tugger, could fight like Munkustrap, or had Alonzo's temper... or if I were all of that!

I'm just the Magical Marvellous Mr. Mistoffelees: the humble showoff. The tom who got his arse kicked by a couple pollicle-clad queens; the git who hid in the shadows while Deuteronomy got dragged off by the hands of his homicidal, and quite possibly insane, son.

But I had to try.

The scent of my den, and sure enough the lovely Victoria that awaited me, teases me and draws me in with promise of safety and salvation. I can almost hear her sobbing but I pull back just before the elastic tension between here and there snaps and I end up either there or partially there, which can't happen because I need all the spare body parts I can get.

Dust swirls and sprinkles my body back to its regular shape and density before I sit up with new confidence: If I die then Macavity has no reason to kill my friends as collateral; if I live then I had successfully killed the Napoleon of Crime. Simple as that.

Above me the pacing stops. The floorboards squeal in perverse delight and anticipation and it's all I can not to join them. My lungs ache to scream.

I slowly make my way to the stairs and take them with much less enthusiasm than Macavity had, I only took them one step at a time. Much too soon than I hoped the last step was conquered and the heavy door stood just at the end of my nose.

_I'm doing this for them, I'm doing this for them. My sister, my mate, my friends..._

I close my eyes. "Open the door."

The door glides open with soundless ease and the heat of August washes over me. A calm I've not felt before envelops me and for the first time in my life I'm ready to face Macavity without fear. "...Mistoffelees?"

My chest nearly cracks open at the sound of my name. The cat saying it isn't Macavity, not unless he's even more perverse and twisted than I thought- in which case I should just walk back down into the basement right now, curl up, and die. I swallow back a lump of bile. "Victoria."

"When-how did you..." My eyes refuse to open now, not if I'm going to open them to her ventriloquisted corpse dancing around the gutted kitchen, flailing her arms like a muppet. That's where I draw the line.

Instead she moves closer and soft fingertips press delicately against the scar running down my cheek. _This can't be happening, I'm going to be sick! _"Bastet, are you alright?! Look at me!"

My head whips from side to side for a very clear 'No freaking way' but my eyelids flutter open anyway.

Before me isn't the macabre sight of Macavity trying to drive me insane but a very concerned and very unhurt Victoria standing in the middle of our ?! No, this wasn't what I wanted! I decided to stay! I was going to stay and fight!

Plato's there too, and he looks about ready to hit the floor and figure out some very hard math to get what just happened into some kind of logical sense. "How did you escape?" he gasped.

Tears swirl my vision before running down my face in big, fat, useless streaks of weakness. I reach up and cup Victoria's beautiful face in my paws. It takes a moment to stop shaking enough to speak but when I did I barely managed much more than a wobbly whisper; "Vicky... where are the others?"

Victoria looks confused and struggles in my grip to look back at her tomfriend. "They left about an hour ago to get you; Macavity left behind a trail so they were able to leave as soon as everyone was rounded up..."

That was all I needed to hear.

Soft, weak twiggy arms catch me as I collapse to the ground sobbing. She pulls me into her chest and strokes the fur between my ears whispering things like "Shh, it's alright" and "You're safe now" which only work to make me cry louder and scream bloody murder into her shoulder. "Misto, what's wrong?" she cooed, half expecting me to blubber about how mean Macavity was and how horrid he stunk.

"I killed them!" I yowl into her, "I killed them all!"


End file.
